


Range lights

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, men of letters HQ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not penance, or where Castiel is supposed to be, yet here he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Range lights

**Author's Note:**

> Set in late season 8 or early season 9. Previously posted to tumblr, archived here.

Even if Castiel's last encounter with Naomi hadn't weakened his grace, freeing himself from her control, the wards on the place Dean affectionately called "the batcave" further lessened his powers. But even at full power, he doesn't need deep sleep, not the way humans do. The hours spent in solitude-wrapped darkness in the room the Winchesters offered him are at times peaceful, the quiet meditation soothing. At other times the weight of what's gone, the weight of what he's done, perch on his chest. It's penance, and he endures, and doesn't seek out comfort. Then there are the nights when he's simply restless. He reads. He wanders the rooms built by the Men of Letters, marveling at human ingenuity and limitations. He sits at the chessboard and ponders the move Sam last made to challenge him. 

Sometimes on those kinds of nights Castiel leaves his coat and jacket neatly draped over a chair and he goes to Dean's room. Knocks once, softly, and opens the door as Dean whispers, "Cas?" Somehow Dean always seems to be awake when Castiel goes to him, although he knows Dean does sleep--Castiel has learned the signs of when he doesn't. 

In the darkness, Castiel removes his clothes and slips under the blanket after Dean pulls it back, into the warm space that seems shaped for him yet he's not sure if he should take this. Castiel lies on his side, facing Dean, cups his hand to the side of Dean's face as Dean turns into the touch. Then Dean's mouth covers his, and Dean slides his hands over Castiel's skin. This is not penance, the sanctuary of this building, the warmth of Dean's body, this isn't where he's supposed to be yet here he is, helping Dean pull off his t-shirt, tugging down his boxers, tasting Dean's skin, fingers curling around the heaviness of Dean's cock, stroking him until he gasps and thrusts. Dean's lips and tongue mark a trail along Castiel's jaw, down along his neck, teasing at his nipple. Then Dean shifts, covering Castiel with the weight of his whole body, and any doubts go into stasis, tucked away in a temporary pocket of irrelevance. 

This isn't where he's supposed to be. This is where he's chosen to belong.


End file.
